Contingency Planning
by beauxity
Summary: Hermione has been assisting Snape in secret for months, planning for the inevitable. Now that he's survived against all odds, how will they face a future which neither could have predicted? HG/SS, EWE.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: My first foray into the HP universe. Please R&R!

Disclaimer: JKR owns all and rocks my world.

She had become immune to the coppery scent hours ago. Blood was matted in her hair, under her nails, and even the strongest _scourgify_ wouldn't be able to save her clothes. The house elves had done their best to keep up with the mess and destruction, but Hermione knew that, like the rest of the castle, the Great Hall would take weeks to repair.

Every piece of available furniture had been transfigured into beds, each one of them occupied by students, professors, and Order members, all with varying degrees of injury. Those that could walk had been moved to whatever remained of the dormitories. The bodies, well, Hermione couldn't handle thinking about them at the moment. Fred, Remus, Tonks…the urge to collapse was nearly overwhelming and she knew if she started crying now, it would be a long time before she would stop. And she didn't have time for that, not yet. She still had one more person to see to.

Hermione surreptitiously scanned the hall. Unsurprisingly, everyone was too entrenched in their own grief and exhaustion to pay her any notice. She crept out the doors and made her way silently back through the rubble of the hallways to the dungeons. Sunlight streamed through holes in the walls as she passed, illuminating scorch marks from hexes that had, she hoped, missed their mark. Many of the landings had been destroyed and it took her several minutes to puzzle her way through the moving staircases. She felt a bit like a maudlin Hansel and Gretel as she followed the telltale trail of blood drops he'd left behind a few hours ago when she'd levitated his disillusioned body through the castle. Avoiding the Aurors had been challenging to say the very least and it was rather unbelievable that no one had realized what she was doing. But perhaps she wasn't the only one no longer affected by the sight of blood.

She paused in front of the painting, supporting herself with one hand on the cold stone wall, and took a deep breath. A pair of entwined serpents stared back at her from the canvas, flicking their tongues, as if trying to scent her, and a familiar shiver crept down her spine. It didn't matter how many times she saw them, the snakes made her feel as if they were looking into her, not at her. Not unlike the man whose room they guarded. Eager to be away from their gaze, she whispered the password and slid through the door, unnoticed.

Candles flared to life in the wall sconces as Hermione passed. It was cool in the room, as it always was, and she added a few logs to the dwindling fire. No sense in him freezing to death now, not after everything she'd gone through to get him here. She felt rather numb herself, but thought that was rather more likely to be from shock than actual temperature. A large cup of tea was definitely in order. But first things first.

The reflection of the flames danced across his face where he lay on the couch. He was unmoving except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest and the occasional twitch of his fingers. Like her, his black hair was plastered to his face and neck with a mixture of blood and sweat. She knelt beside him and carefully moved his hair away from his throat. The wound had finally stopped bleeding, but the ragged edges of the multiple punctures still gaped horribly. The sight left her feeling like she'd been punched in the gut. He had warned her. Despite their precautions, she knew that he may not survive this. And his current appearance was worrying to say the least.

With shaking hands, she pulled the unbuttoned collar of his shirt and frock coat down slightly. The fabric felt stiff and slightly sticky and was probably chaffing painfully against his skin. She'd been trying to avoid having to undress him, knowing he wouldn't be pleased if and when he finally awoke. However, there seemed to be no way around it. If she left him in his filthy, bloodied robes the wound would surely become infected and that wasn't a risk she was willing to take.

Her fingers fumbled with his coat. Damn him and his ridiculously extensive buttons! They were very nearly glued shut with blood and she was positive she didn't have the dexterity or concentration required at the moment to undo them all properly. "To hell with this. Professor, if you can hear me, I'll sew them all back on by hand later, but I can't fucking deal with this right now. _Evanesco_!"

She really had only intended to remove the buttons. Unfortunately, she had forgotten that it was not her own wand, but Bellatrix's, that she held and therefore not nearly as accurate as she was used to. As she took in his very pale, and very naked form, she also seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. It was certainly not the first time she'd seen a naked man before; that was unavoidable after living with two teenage boys in a tent for months on end. And it wasn't even really the nakedness that shocked her. It was the extensive scarring that crisscrossed over his torso and down his legs. She couldn't see his back from this angle, but the way the marks seemed to wrap around him, she could only assume that it was even worse than his front.

"Oh God, I am so sorry!" she gasped, taking a step back, but unable to look away. She knew he wouldn't hear her, and she didn't even know if she was apologizing for seeing him naked, or if it was just pity for the state of his marred body. Regardless, Hermione quickly covered him with the heavy throw that had been draped over the arm of the couch, before summoning a flannel and a bowl of warm, soapy water. There was no way she was going to attempt to _scourgify_ him, not after the way her wand had just performed. With her luck, she'd probably remove his skin in the process, and that seemed rather counterproductive.

Gingerly, and with great care, Hermione washed the dried blood from his skin. She tried to ignore the raised bumps and deep divots of the scars, instead concentrating on searching him for any other, more current injuries, and luckily finding none. It seemed that aside from the lethal attack from Nagini, he had escaped the battle relatively unscathed. _If this is unscathed, I'd hate to see him on death's door_ , she chuckled to herself. Merlin, she really must be losing it if she was able to laugh at the situation when by all rights she should be huddled in a corner, bawling. She couldn't roll him over to get to his back for fear of doing more damage to his neck, so Hermione carefully lifted each limb and washed the underside. The rest of him would have to wait.

It was with an exhaustion so deep she didn't think she would ever recover that Hermione finally poured a dose of both Dreamless Sleep and Blood Replenisher into her professor's mouth and left him to rest. She knew people had probably noticed her absence from the Great Hall by this point, but there was no way she was going to make it back up there without collapsing. With one last glance at Snape, she dragged herself into his bathroom and stripped off her grimy clothing. She'd burn it tomorrow. There was no way it was ever going near her body again. To her surprise, Snape had quite a luxurious bathtub and though she looked at it longingly, Hermione knew she'd more than likely drown if she attempted to bathe at the moment. A shower would have to do. She stepped into the scalding water and scrubbed at her skin until it was pink. Her hair would likely be a complete and total disaster tomorrow but she couldn't be bothered to do more than rinse out the caked blood.

Hermione wrapped herself in a towel and stepped into Snape's bedroom. The large, four-poster bed, a staple of every bedroom in Hogwarts it seemed, called to her. She had every intention of crawling under the covers and nesting for at least the next several hours, but somehow the idea of laying in her professor's bed naked seemed rather…uncomfortable. She spied a chest of drawers to her left and prayed that he owned something other than shirts with too many buttons. The middle drawer opened with creak and Hermione let out a loud bark of laughter. To her surprise, perhaps even more than the fact that the Dark Lord was dead, or that Snape had somehow survived whatever horrific torture had left him with those scars, it seemed that Professor Snape had a penchant for band t-shirts. As she curled up in his thick duvet, pulling the Led Zeppelin shirt as far down her legs at it would go, she realized that perhaps there was far more to Severus Snape than she had ever known.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2…thanks for the favs & reviews! I'd love to hear your input so please R&R!

Disclaimer: JKR owns all. I only wish it was mine, although I could never do it justice!

The early morning sun at Hogwarts was a bit of an aberration when compared to the rest of Scotland, brought about by the heat rising from the Black Lake and the wind that whipped interminably around the Forbidden Forest. Nights spent in Gryffindor tower for the past seven years hadn't afforded Hermione the opportunity to experience the morning light rising over the mountains. The early rays barely reached the frosty windows of the Great Hall, let alone her cozy room several stories above ground. Three days waking up to the dawn breaking through the charmed windows of the dungeon, however, had been entirely enough to instill a deep appreciation for the professor's heavy drapes and the warming charm he had woven into his blankets.

Mornings were habitually burdensome for Hermione. In childhood, mornings meant pulling herself out of bed after too few hours of sleep and far too many hours of reading a book by whatever moonlight managed to make it to her bedside. For the past several years they had meant apprehensiveness over whether Voldemort had come to Harry in sleep once more, whether they would be off on another daring adventure risking life and limb. And now that it was all over, the worst part was the brief moment upon waking when Hermione forgot what had happened before reality descended once more.

This morning brought with it the realization that it had been over 72 hours with no change in Professor Snape. His words from six months ago rang with clearly in her mind. "Miss Granger, there is every likelihood, even should you administer whatever counter curse or antivenin or healing potion we've prepared, that I will not survive the coming battle." He had been reclined in his armchair beside the fire as he spoke, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle in a surprisingly relaxed pose. The dying flames had thrown his features into stark relief, and she remembered shivering from the resignation in his voice. "You must promise me that you will not go out of your way to attempt to save me. It is not your concern."

Like hell it wasn't. He _was_ her concern. Most days, it felt like he was her _only_ concern. Certainly more so than Harry who had not only Ron, but the entire Order behind him. No, the only person who had stood nominally behind Snape had been Dumbledore, and that ship had sailed last year. McGonagall had turned on him instantly – she wasn't sure if she'd ever forgive her Head of House for that – and the other Order members were useless, they hadn't trusted him from the beginning. In fact, if Hermione hadn't approached the Headmaster the year previous, she wasn't sure that Snape would have even survived long enough for Harry to end it.

Fighting for the downtrodden. It was her well-established M.O. And look where it had gotten her so far.

The stone floor was frigid under her bare feet as she stumbled into the living area, duvet wrapped around her shoulder to try and trap the last fragments of warmth. Hadn't these people ever heard of radiators? Not much wonder Slytherins were miserable – they were probably just freezing constantly. Perhaps that was why Malfoy was so pale all the time…

She had discovered over their clandestine meetings of the past year that Professor Snape had a preference for spicy, herbal teas, in particular a proprietary blend of star anise, cinnamon and orange zest which she had quickly learned to love. He had presented her with a small container of it at one of their final meetings. At the time she had assumed it was given as a nod to their tenuous friendship; now she wondered if it was meant as a parting gift. Regardless, a cup was definitely in order.

She poured the brew into _his_ mug. He had always drank from this mug, the only one like it in is cupboard, hand crafted by all accounts. She could understand why. It brought out the tannins wonderfully and the heat was dissipated just enough through the thick walls to allow her to wrap her hand all the way around. The leather of his armchair creaked as she sank into it. For such an austere man, Professor Snape apparently indulged in some luxuries in his private life. That bathtub in particular had been well-used by her the past few days.

Since the day of the battle, after she had retrieved Snape from the Shrieking Shack and administered whatever life-saving measures she could conceive of, Hermione had spent most of her waking hours repairing the castle. Harry was still in the infirmary, ostensibly fine and fighting to be able to leave. She suspected that it was an effort on everyone else's part to give him some well-deserved rest that kept him confined to quarters, rather than an actual need to recuperate. Ron and Ginny had traded off time with him and their mother, no one quite knowing how to handle the loss of Fred. For her part, Hermione still hadn't allowed herself to process the losses. Particularly when she didn't know whether she should be grieving for the person in front of her.

His hand twitched where it rested limply on his stomach. She knew the Dreamless Sleep potion would be wearing off, but it was the last dose she had on hand. Even if there were more the risk of dependency was unconscionably high at the point. Though if he never woke up… No, she wasn't going to go down that road. His brow joined in the twitching. Not surprising. A furrowed brow was part of his DNA. Wicked tongue, billowing robes, permanent scowl. Nature vs nurture be damned, he must have come out from the womb snarky.

She would give up as many House Points as he wanted to take if he'd just wake up now. She wasn't even sure if there was a House Cup currently. At least one of the hourglass counters had been destroyed in the battle – she thought it had been Slytherin house, which would not please the professor, but she couldn't be sure. Hell, at this point she'd charm every portrait in the castle to sing "Hail Salazar" whenever he walked by if he would just open his eyes.

So she sat. She sat, staring at him, as his twitching increased over the next half hour. He would grow feverish soon, as the potions wore off. With an audible sigh, she summoned another Pain Reliever potion, silently thanking Ron for finding her another wand. Not that this one was particularly well suited to her magic, but at least it hadn't been the one to carve the ugly word into her arm. It felt as if each individual letter pulsed whenever she held Bellatrix's wand. This wand, at least, held significantly less risk of maiming whomever she pointed it toward.

When the fever broke, she bathed his head in cool water. His skin was salty with the remnants of sweat and tears. He would desperately need a bath when he finally awoke.

It was another hour before his eyes finally parted, glassy and unfocused. His breathing was raspy. "Miss Granger…"

"I'm here, professor."

He slept again. Sweat soaked the sofa. She'd long ago removed his blankets in an attempt to cool his temperature. The fire had gone out in the room and her skin pulled into goosebumps, even the heat radiating from him doing little to combat the chill.

Eventually, his black eyes met hers once again, slightly more focused this time. "I thought I'd dreamt you."

"No, sir, I'm here." She warmed infinitesimally.

"Mr. Potter…"

"He lives. Voldemort is dead."

His eyes closed as he exhaled. Slowly, uneasily, his eyes parted to gaze at his left arm where it lay over his chest. She hadn't even noticed before. The Dark Mark, previously black against his sallow complexion, was now almost completed faded.

"Gods, it's true." The desperation in his voice nearly shattered her.

"Yes, professor. Just rest. You don't have to do anything now. Please, sleep."

With the faintest of smiles on his lips, he did just that.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Here's the next one. Took a bit longer to write than I'd hoped, so apologies for that. Thanks to all who favourite, follow and/or review!

Disclaimer: JKR owns all. I own nothing but a growing collection of Slytherin paraphernalia.

A year ago, the first time she had been in the Slytherin dormitory with the full knowledge and, albeit reluctant, consent of the Head of House, Hermione had thought that the greenish glow coming through the windows from the Black Lake gave the rooms a rather ethereal quality, akin to swimming through absinthe. She thought it appropriate. Though it did no favours for Professor Snape's already pallid complexion, in fact he had looked downright nauseated during their brief, stilted conversation, it did give the impression that Slytherins verily bled green.

She now knew that was categorically not true. In fact, after spending the past 7 hours ensuring that the dungeons were secure enough to not succumb to the force of the water outside, she was quite sure that she'd be perfectly content never to see the colour green again. The only reason she'd stuck it out as long as she had was so Professor Snape wouldn't have to deal with giant squid in the Slytherin common room when he awoke. Although perhaps it could replace the current house mascot. Somehow she didn't see the professor wanting to be around snakes, whether they were in live or portrait form, anytime in the near future.

No one else had thought repairing the dungeon was a priority, which benefitted Hermione with a sufficient level of autonomy to be able to attend to Snape without raising the suspicions of the others who remained in the castle. It was certainly preferable to having to continue using the time turner to sneak down to see him. Gods only knew how many additional months she'd added to her age over the past year. Certainly far more than Dumbledore had likely intended when he'd returned the device to her. Hermione stowed her wand in the pocket of her jeans and slipped back into the professor's rooms.

The fire had gone out again and she shivered. Clearly the house elves had not yet picked up on the fact that the professor remained in his rooms either. Very little could combat the interminable damp of the dungeons. Even a Weasley Christmas sweater would be welcome at this point…

"Where the hell have you been?"

Hermione let out a shriek. "Oh! You're awake!"

"Obviously…"

She rushed to the sofa where he sat propped against one arm and started casting diagnostics. "Breathing appears normal. Blood pressure is slightly low, but that's to be expected given the amount of blood you lost. Pupils are responding normally." She pulled back the blanket and started to pinch each toe. "Can you feel this? Any circulation issues?"

"Miss Granger!" Her fingers froze above his left ankle. "Would you kindly remove your hands from my extremities?" His hands were clenched in fists by his side, and she dared not meet his eyes lest she be incinerated on the spot.

She replaced the throw over his legs and slunk back to the chair across from him. "Sorry, professor." Her filthy jeans didn't do much to help with her sweaty palms as she rubbed them on her lap.

His eyes burned as they swept over her dishevelled state and indignation bubbled within her. She had honestly done the best she could to repair her clothing. The jeans at least held together, despite the blood stains that lingered through several washings of both the magical and Muggle variety.

Hermione risked a quick glance at his face. He was unmoving. "Please tell me that's not my shirt you're wearing."

She cringed. "Yes, well, you see my old shirt was irreparable after the battle, and I don't actually have any other clothing with me, what with having left all of our camping supplies somewhere in the British countryside, and you had a surprising number of t-shirts, so I just thought I'd borrow one or two…or five…" She broke his gaze and crossed her arms in front of her.

Snape cleared his throat. "Are where, pray tell, would _my_ clothing be?"

She'd known he'd be upset about that but honestly. What other option had there been? "You couldn't very well have expected me to heal you while you were covered head to toe in layers of robes, Professor. And to be perfectly frank, I was more concerned about making sure you didn't bleed out from one minute to the next than worrying about your modesty." I mean, at least she'd thrown a blanket over him. And she'd be happy to never think about his scars again, thank you very much.

"Be that as it may, perhaps you would be so kind as to fetch me something to put on so I can get off this Merlin be damned couch. And then you can explain to me exactly how it is that I ended up here."

She _accio_ 'd his dressing gown from where it lay over the chair in his bedroom. Probably better that he didn't realize that she'd also utilized it several times over the past week.

"Tea, Professor?"

"I should think this conversation would warrant something a bit stronger, but I shudder to think how fire whiskey would react with whatever potions you've been pumping into me."

She ignored the comment, but thought she could probably do with a shot or two herself. At least boiling the kettle allowed her to give the professor a modicum of privacy. When she returned to the living room, tea tray hovering alongside, he was sitting upright, though by the death grip he had on the side table, she wasn't sure how long he was going to last in that position.

"Sir…are you alright?" He was even paler than normal and his hands were most definitely shaking.

"No, Miss Granger a daresay having my throat nearly ripped out by a giant snake and spending what I can only assume was several days in a potion-induced coma would lead to me being decidedly _not_ alright."

Whatever weakness he may be experiencing, they had clearly not affected his ability to eviscerate polite conversation.

He steadied himself before reaching for his mug, which Hermione had already prepared. "Now, and I cannot believe these words are about to come out of my mouth, kindly start talking."

She took a sip of tea and settled into the armchair. "I am going to assume that you remember what happened in the Shrieking Shack, given that you know you were attacked by Nagini." He flinched almost imperceptibly. "Well, once Harry had your memories, he took off into the castle to find Dumbledore's pensieve. Ron and I went to help the others defend the castle, which I did for about an hour. Then when Ron was distracted with his family – oh, Fred Weasley died during the battle. As did Lupin and Tonks. And Colin Creevey, and..."

"Yes, yes, get on with it. There will be more than enough time later to discuss our losses."

 _Our_ losses, indeed. She continued. "We'd been given an hour to retrieve our dead and wounded, at which point Harry was supposed to hand himself over. Just before the hour was up, I used the time turner to go back to immediately after your attack. I couldn't move you, I still had no idea where would be safe, but I was able to get a bezoar and the antivenin into you and patch up your neck enough that you wouldn't bleed to death. By the time I caught up with my future self, Harry had gone and given himself up to save us all." Hermione summarized the remainder of the battle as accurately as she could, keeping a close eye on Snape's reaction. She saw the exact moment when he remembered that the Dark Mark was gone and he gripped is forearm over his sleeve, but didn't interrupt her. "So once everything was said and done, I managed to disillusion you and levitate you down to your rooms where you've obviously been ever since. I stopped the Dreamless Sleep 3 days ago, but you've been taking Blood Replenisher every 8 hours. I know we had discussed this scenario as a possibility, but the odds of you actually surviving were so low after the attack and I honestly didn't know what else to give you…"

He stared straight ahead without seeing, without moving. So she sat, equally silent and waiting for his reaction. He would most definitely have one once the truth of the situation sank in. Eventually her tea turned cold and he started at the _clink_ of her tea cup on the saucer.

"I seem to be at a bit of a loss, Miss Granger."

Okay, not what she had been expecting. " _Thank you, Miss Granger_ ," maybe, or " _How can I ever repay you_?" or more likely " _Why the hell didn't you wake me up sooner_?" But not this. From the shaking in his hands that had started to increase and the beads of sweat that were breaking out across his forehead, Professor Snape appeared to be panicking.

"Sir, please, you're fine. From what I can tell, there should be little to no lasting damage from the venom. It will take a while for the tremors to subside, but other than that, you should be back to teaching in no time."

"Back to teaching?!" he roared as he shot to his feet. His favourite mug shattered against the fireplace. "In what world would I be welcome back at Hogwarts, Miss Granger? Former headmaster with a long term association with Death Eaters, murderer of Albus Dumbledore, who spent his miserable tenure torturing students. Parents would be simply _gagging_ to have me educate the young minds of the wizarding world."

"No but, sir, you're a hero! Harry told us what he saw in the memories. I mean, you'll probably end up with an Order of Merlin!"

"Of course he did. Couldn't keep that bit of information quiet, could he? Now I'll not only be reviled but pitied. Poor little Snape, so greasy he couldn't even be loved as a child."

He was shaking quite violently now. Hermione could see him swaying to the side and reached out a hand to steady him.

"Don't touch me!" He ripped his arm out of her grasp, in the process sending himself careening into the coffee table. It smashed under his weight. The tea set lay in pieces on the soaked rug.

"Professor! Are you alright?" Again with the stupid questions, she scolded herself. In any case, he didn't respond, apparently unconscious yet again.

Hermione carefully levitated him off the floor. She was really becoming quite proficient at this. The couch was in almost as bad of shape as her clothing, so she opted to move him to his actual bed. At least he wouldn't bleed all over those lovely sheets now.

She tucked him in, doused the lights and partially closed the bedroom door so she would know when he awoke again. With a sigh, she returned to clean up Professor Snape's mess.


End file.
